


Along For The Ride

by FoxyPrince



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, Brief Reference to Masturbation, Cigarettes, Cigars, Drunk Qrow Branwen, F/M, M/M, Magpie (RWBY), Murder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Toxic Romantic Behaviors, Unrequited Lust, bar hookups, one sided pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:29:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22662523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxyPrince/pseuds/FoxyPrince
Summary: Officer Qrow Branwen is certainly no rookie; with seven years on the force under his belt, he and his partner Summer Rose have seen just about everything. While he battles with the thoughts of his past shortcomings and his insatiable longing for his spirited partner, an old adversary manages to creep back into his life, dredging up all manner of new drama.A tale of lust, mystery, betrayal, and murder. A whimsical excuse for me to explore the fun, over the top, and dirty writing style that is noir while viciously heaping angst onto Qrow.
Relationships: Neopolitan/Roman Torchwick, Qrow Branwen/Roman Torchwick, Qrow Branwen/Summer Rose, Summer Rose/Taiyang Xiao Long
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	1. It Was a Dark Night...

Late evening had already rolled in with a low hanging fog by the time Qrow returned home. It was always this way; he would spend his days cooped up in an office and his nights locked away in his silent apartment. It was as dark inside as it was out on the city streets with only a dim lamp to illuminate the room in much the same way the street lights had lit his way home. He tossed his keys onto the low coffee table in front of the ragged couch he lived on and sank down into the well worn cushions with a weary sigh. Most of those who became police officers did so out of the desire to protect innocent civilians and rid the world of the evil that lived in men’s hearts, but sitting alone in that dark, empty, quiet room, Qrow had come to feel more and more that he and the men he locked away had much in common. They always came from rough backgrounds, broken homes, and they always felt they were only doing what was necessary for their survival or their benefit; he found it hard to argue most times, often feeling that had things only been marginally different it may have been him in those cuffs, in that chair… In fact, he was of the firm belief that this apartment, maybe even his whole life, was his own personal prison cell. And who does not crave freedom when those around them claim it so easily?

His own partner was an undaunted, quick-witted, passionate woman with silver eyes that cut like steel and a smile that could melt the coldest of men. It was of no surprise that Summer Rose was happy. She did freely what Qrow had only dreamed of; she carved out a place in this world where she could build her happiness and watch it grow in the form of a kind husband and two young girls. He often wondered why she still served the force if she had her freedom, and she always assured him it was for the betterment of others. Qrow doubted her intentions, knowing that no one could truly care only for the wellbeing of strangers in a situation that put them in harm’s way. She and Taiyang, her husband and a teacher at a local high school, had a precocious, passionate romance that had come about entirely through good fortune and convenient timing; it made the gruff cop’s insides twist with green envy, just thinking about her, his hands over her. He felt within himself such a strong desire to hold her, to touch her soft and breakable skin with his own filthy hands and sink his jagged edges into her until she was as broken as he. That this world had left her untouched and clean while it had clung to him in a way that suffocated anything good inside him burned him in a way that he had not words to express. If he was born undeserving of freedom, why should she be allowed it? What made her special? And why did he want her - need her - so badly..?

He scrubbed a hand across his face, scratching the stubble along his chin, and sat up some to reach under the coffee table. A few drinks from the half empty bottle of Jack there was usually enough to wash the thought of that woman’s taste from his mouth, and if that wouldn’t work, he would undo his belt and numb his mind enough to drown in her. It seemed tonight he would not get the chance to do either; his phone chimed loudly in its cradle on the wall near the door. With a disgruntled huff, Qrow stood from his couch and trudged over to yank the thing from its place, pressing it against the side of his face.

“Yeah.”

“Branwen, this is Goodwitch. There’s been a reported shots fired on Seventh and a possible body. Captain wants you and Rose to check it out. Says it’s important.”

Qrow sighed and moved to lean against the wall, hand not holding up the receiver fisted tightly around the phone cord. Nothing good would come of this, that much he knew for certain. Ozpin only ever called for him this way to set him up for failure, always with that knowing, smug glint in his eyes. The older man exuded a certain heir of cocky wisdom, and it infuriated Qrow to no end; it reminded him far too much of his father.

“Oh, does he? Shouldn’t night shift deal with it?” He snarks back at her, staring up at his ceiling with glassy eyes. He didn’t want to walk into whatever mess his captain wanted him to, at least not willingly.

“Rose is already moving to the location. Get there, Branwen.”

Her voice was harsh and ended abruptly with the loud click of her clattering the phone back into its cradle on her end. Qrow turned lazily and hung up as well, moving to retrieve his drink sluggishly as though the weight of what was to come was already bearing down upon him.

\-----

The silent car ride across the few blocks from his apartment to Seventh St. and the few drinks he’d had weren’t enough to fully clear his head of the less than savory thoughts about his partner, and his mood reflected this as he stepped out of his car behind hers. He stalked, shoulders slumped and brows furrowed, forward on the sidewalk in front of the all-night convenience store the call was most likely about to check her car, to see that she must have proceeded without him. Glancing through the window proved him correct; she was alone in the store with a pen and pad in hand, noting down everything on the scene. Other officers were likely on their way as well. He reached inside his coat to a pocket there and grasped for his flask, turning away from the window to take one more drink before heading inside.

Summer’s head whipped around as he entered to fix Qrow with a gaze that immediately restoked the fire in his chest for her and knotted his mind up in several ways. Her eyes roamed over his weary face and avoidant posture with a keenness that felt as though she would look right through him and see all the vile poison inside.

“What took you so long? You look like shit,” she murmured, turning her attention almost pointedly back to her pad. There was a body on the floor next to the counter, blood still wet on the ground beneath it.

“Thanks. Maybe the welfare check up should wait.”

She stayed silent for a moment, only side-eyeing him before moving with a sigh to step over the pool of blood to get to the body better.

“Eighteen year old male, shot through the chest twice. One bullet missed and ricocheted into the wall just above where he was likely standing…”

Qrow stopped listening as he watched her hands move the dead man’s jacket to the side to show the bullet wounds, eyes focused only on the way her hands worked. Trailing up the exposed expanse of her arm, he let himself lean against the counter of the store to more easily eye her cleavage, glancing away swiftly when she brought her attention back to his face. This is why he hadn’t wanted to get back out; he could hardly contain himself. This was his partner, a married woman, but she was all he thought of. His mind swam behind his eyes as he moved with purpose for the first time that night to check the register behind the counter. It had been emptied though not in a hurry as one might have expected from what seemed to be an amateur robbery.

“He cleaned the register out. Looks like a clean job.”

Summer nodded and stood, coming over to stand next to him and leaning slightly against his arm as she pointed to the safe under the counter. It stood still open, cash long gone. Qrow’s skin burned where she had touched him, even through his shirt.

“...Oz didn’t tell you, did he?” She said quietly after a moment, and he realized he was staring.

“‘Tell me’? Tell me what..?”

“That… he thinks this is connected. To the other small time robberies exactly like it all over Vale over the last six months.” Qrow nodded, but he knew she was hiding something, too, brows knitting together in question of what she wasn’t telling him.

“And... he thinks it’s connected to whoever Neo Politan’s partner was. Or is, apparently.”

Oh.

That name brought with it a wave of familiar anxiety, and immediately he realized why Ozpin had deemed it necessary for him and Summer to be the first on the scene. Almost six years ago, the two of them were still rookies who had been lucky - or unlucky - enough to be involved with the search and eventual arrest of Neo Politan, known at the time as Belle, and her partner and seeming lover, still only known as Crayne. He’d eluded police successfully for this long, and eventually the trail went cold. The bureau had come to the conclusion that he’d likely either fled the country or taken up a more honest lifestyle without his partner around to help plan and execute heists. If Ozpin’s suspicions were true - and they always were - it meant he was back in Vale, and he needed money badly enough to risk drawing attention to himself - to risk cold blooded murder.

“Why the body?” Qrow pondered quietly, almost to himself. “Why this time?”

None of the other recent robberies had involved anyone’s death, so the sudden violence seemed out of character, at least for the solo Crayne, if that was the culprit. He and his gal had killed dozens of men and women, both civilians and some of Qrow’s fellow officers, when they were at their peak, but this just left a bad taste in his mouth.

“He hasn’t killed any of the other kids workin’ the counters, so why this one? Think he was just mouthy?” His lip quirked up over his teeth on one side, and he raised a brow, chuckling at himself.

Summer shook her head and looked over her shoulder back at the body; there was a keen sense of pity in her face, never able to appreciate Qrow’s quick wit on the job. She tossed her hair over her shoulder as she turned around again and fixed him with a firm stare.

“No, I don’t think so. I think he’s desperate, that he needs this cash as quickly as possible, no matter the cost. I think the kid recognized him, and he made the call to kill him to try to keep us off him as long as he could...” Her voice was painfully clear and sure.

Joke as he might, more than anything Qrow just wanted this problem to go away, leave him to his whiskey and his lust and his empty. It was just too hard to focus on the job anymore, too difficult to see the point in it outside of maintaining order, and Crayne was too damn big for him to take on. It didn’t make sense for Ozpin to send them out here like this, just the two of them. Why was it his problem? Didn’t he have enough to worry about already? He’d done this once before, so why couldn’t some hot blooded rookie do it this time? Ozpin didn’t seem to have any issues assigning rookies to crooks far above their experience the last time Qrow checked, after all.

He gritted his teeth as he reached into his jacket and pulled out a cigarette case, taking one out and striking a match to light up.

“Look at this, Qrow. You know I’m right...” Summer’s words were softer now, with an urgent undertone that made his chest tighten. Damnable woman, she always knew how to get to him, how to drag him back, and the earnest look in her silver eyes told him she had no idea just how twisted he was for her.

He looked down at what she was giving him; it was the victim’s identification, which gave his name, home address, age, and other menial information. Qrow huffed out a lungful of smoke and took the thing, turning it around in his hands with his cigarette dangling precariously from his lips.

“Yeah, it’s an ID. Not sure how that fingers Crayne exactly,” he gruffed, tossing the card down onto the counter. Despite his dismissive tone, he leaned against the counter near it, still pondering over the information there while worrying his cigarette between his fingers.

“Well that’s just it. On its own, it doesn’t mean much, but Qrow… Tealy. His last name. Don’t you remember?” She leaned on her crossed arms against the counter just next to him, looking up at him with that intense focus in her eyes. That fire burning in her eyes, that passion for the chase - it was so bright Qrow found himself having to look away, back to the ID card in front of him.

“Tealy…” He mused over the word as it left his lips, trying to find a familiarity in its taste. Then, all at once, it hit him.

“Marina Tealy. Fuck, how could I forget! She was one of Crayne and Belle’s last victims. Hell, her death led to the arrest of Neo Politan… You think this was her kid..?” Qrow glanced back over his shoulder, past Summer, to the cold body on the ground.

“I know he is… I could never forget the way he sounded, crying there on the sidewalk while they put his mother’s body under a sheet… He was just a child…” She trailed off, following Qrow’s line of sight to his body, now much like his mother, and Qrow found himself unsure whether it was the memory of him then or his death now that had her voice pinched with the threat of tears. He felt a deep want to comfort her, to take her into his arms and hold her to him until her sadness melded with his own and simply became a part of him, but more than that, he felt that hot spike of jealousy and vile ache twist in the pit of his gut; he wanted her to understand him, to experience that deep, unyielding sorrow that was a tethering constant in his world. Ultimately, he simply reached an unsteady hand out to grasp her shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze in a way he hoped helped somehow.

Briefly, Summer brought her hand up to rest atop Qrow’s, the soft skin of her fingertips ghosting across his knuckles in a way that sent crackles of nervous energy up his arm, making his hair stand on end. As soon as the touch had come, it left him again.

“I’ll be alright,” she said, brushing a delicate wrist over her cheek to hide her tears as she turned to face him again.

“That’s good…” He looked down at her face, determined despite her pain, and watched the approaching blue lights dance along the curve of her jaw. This place was about to light up with activity; their moment of quiet here in the presence of tragedy not hours past was fast coming to a close, and Qrow felt his skin crawl with the need for fresh air and the warm embrace of booze.

“I have to go; somewhere I gotta be. Good work tonight. Call me if anything else comes up. You know where I’ll be.” He watches the disappointment gather on her face and simply gives a smile that could never reach his eyes. With the sirens drawing ever closer, he made his exit, chancing only a single sideways glance at Summer through the window as he headed for his car.


	2. Legs Up to Here

The silver crescent moon had crept just past its midnight peak by the time Qrow made his way across Vale to his usual haunt. The familiar vision of the glowing pink neon lettering, reading Ambrosia, above the dark wood doors and the dimly lit interior through the window brought with it a wave of faux comfort; Qrow turned up his collar to the chilled wind of the evening and hurried inside, nodding to the barkeep as he moved to his regular spot - a booth against the back wall. He let out a long, tired sigh as he hung his head, hands running through his already mused hair and loosing strands that fell about his face. A glass of whiskey was placed next to his elbow, to which he offered a vaguely grateful grunt before lifting it to his lips. The burn pulled his tangled thoughts away from the many directions they had been headed to focus only on that dull pain instead, and he savored the momentary reprieve.

Behind him, he heard the staccato approach of heels on hardwood and, canting his head to glance over his shoulder, saw a woman approaching the small raised stage across the room. She was an incredible sight; her dark, tight curls wreathing her head and catching the light in such a way that she seemed haloed by it, while her warm, rich brown skin glowed with a radiant confidence mirrored by her posture. Qrow hummed to himself and wondered what she meant to sing. It was a pleasant surprise to hear the soft notes begin to pour from the piano as she found her place at the keys; her voice was soft as silk and intoxicating, drawing the eyes of most in the bar and keeping their gaze locked on her. Qrow watched her for a while before turning back to his drink, enjoying the mellow melodies that drifted through the room while he sank further and further into his glass.

Another round was brought to him, another song spent, and the night drug on. Darker thoughts - thoughts of _her_ \- were being kept at bay, for now, by the blessed grace of talented women and cheap whiskey, and Qrow had to admit that for the first time in a while, he was feeling alright. He glanced up from his glass to the door as it opened, wind whipping inside for only a moment with enough force to send napkins flying from the bar and a few nearby tables. Qrow’s gaze drifted along with one of the runaways before shifting back towards the door to land on the stranger there - a man with a particular and commanding posture, touched with annoyance as the wind blew his hat and hair out of their places. His eyes drifted from the polished, well kept leather of the man’s shoes to the rest of his attire, lingering over perfectly fitted black slacks and a pristine white coat that hugged just a little too well around the waist.

The stranger was well dressed, to be certain, but what held Qrow’s attention for more than a passing interest were his eyes; they were a stunning, deep emerald that played so wonderfully with the vibrant red of his hair. They sparkled with the mischievous nature of the little smile that graced his lips for the brief moment they had moved over the crowd. There were many things about this stranger’s eyes that Qrow found alluring, but perhaps the most intriguing thing about them was that they were unwaveringly set on him. The man, now with Qrow in his sights, pushed a hand through his lightly slicked hair to tame all of the damage the wind had done, placed his hat back atop his head, and began weaving his way between tables in his direction.

Qrow’s eyes immediately darted back down towards his glass, watching the condensation beading and running down to darken the wood beneath it. His mind was alight with speculations, anxieties, trepidation, and a low thrum of anticipatory excitement that made his palms sweat; it was a strange cocktail of emotions that he didn’t fully understand, but as the stranger slid into the opposite side of his booth, he found he was eager to see what would come of it.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the other beat him to it.

“Buy me a drink, darling. I’m far too sober for the evening I’ve been through.”

His voice was confident and playful, the look in his eyes still echoing that earlier mischief, and Qrow knew then and there that this man had bad decisions written all over him. Despite himself, he looked over towards the barkeep and caught his eye, holding up two fingers. The bartender nodded with a slightly questioning glance at the newcomer and began fixing their drinks.

“Can I help you with something?” Qrow watched the other’s face carefully, trying to get a bead on any twitch or tell that might help him uncover his true intentions.

“We’ll see before the night is out, I’m sure.” He paused as drinks were placed on the table between them, grinning at the raise of Qrow’s eyebrows. The officer brought his first glass up to his lips to down the remainder before sliding it to the side.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you in here before. Just passing through?” The stranger overlooks the question momentarily in favor of taking a long drink, wincing at the taste, and then reaching into his coat to produce a cigar.

“Something like that. Been in town a lot longer than I expected, though… You gotta light?”

Qrow fumbled around in his pockets for a moment for the box of matches he had stowed away, handing it over once he’d found it. There came a small, appreciative grunt from the other in return as he struck a match and spent a moment setting the tip of the cigar alight.

“I came to town to visit an… old friend of mine, but as it turns out, she’s a little tied up with something else right now. So, here I am, roaming the streets at all ungodly hours trying to occupy myself.” He huffed a small laugh, and Qrow watched the silky smoke trail past his lips and curl up towards the ceiling. He found it hard to believe the other was here only out of boredom, but he also found he didn’t really care that much; the company was pleasant, at least.

“Hm. So do you usually just hang around with strangers in seedy bars, Mr. uh..?”

“Sorry, where are my manners? Roman, no mister. And we’ve been talking for at least five minutes now, I don’t think we count as strangers anymore, now do we, Mr..?” The upward lilt to the title, coupled with the delicate but pointed brush of Roman’s fingers over the back of his hand where it rested on the table, made the sentence seem less a question and more of a fond, flirtatious tease. The small touch raised goosebumps along Qrow’s arm, and the flash of teeth and glittering impishness on Roman’s face made his stomach do a flip.

“That’s officer to you, actually,” Qrow snarked back, lips pulling up into a lopsided grin against his better judgement. Roman’s eyes widened; a single brow raised.

“Officer Qrow Branwen, at your service,” he continued, sarcasm bleeding into his words. He raised his drink in a mock toast before downing half of it.

“Interesting… How long have you been on the force, _officer?”_

“Nearly seven years. It’s a real pain in my ass. Hardly worth it most days.”

Roman hummed softly to himself in thought, fingers moving now to trace little circles over Qrow’s knuckles; Qrow watched this and wondered to himself why he wasn’t stopping it. When his eyes lifted back up, he caught Roman’s gaze, watching Qrow watching him, and he felt a little sheepish under the attention.

“I can imagine it’s exciting some of the time, though, right? I mean… It’s gotta be a real rush to be one step ahead of the bad guy, surely. Any big cases like that under your belt? Ever caught a cold blooded killer or a criminal mastermind?” he paused to chuckle, “Or are you more of a helping old dames across streets kinda cop?”

Qrow shot him a tired look and rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I’ve worked on bigger cases - hell, you might’ve even seen my name in the papers - but you know, they’re not all they’re cracked up to be. Shit’s exhausting and stressful and half the time putting the heat on criminals like that just makes ‘em more tempted by violence. Sometimes it’s better to just leave well enough the hell alone.”

There was a small moment of quiet as Qrow took another drink, looking out at the rest of the bar at the sound of applause. The elegant woman whose voice had captivated the room for a small while stood now at the forefront of the stage blowing a gentle kiss to the patrons as she prepared to make her exit. The warmth of Roman’s hand over his retreated, leaving his skin prickling in its wake and drawing Qrow’s attention back to the other. His face twisted slightly in thought as he ran a finger idly over his bottom lip.

The sight caught him off guard, and, suddenly as the breath hung in his throat, there came to him a break in the haze cloud of alcohol and misery that so often fogged his mind; he found himself genuinely longing for this stranger’s touch, for his doting attentions and overtly flirtatious demeanor, when for so long he had thought of none but his sacrosanct partner, distant and virtuous. He caught his eyes wandering after the finger that now worried over the other’s flush, inviting bottom lip. It was so simple for his mind to drift from the ache he felt prickling along his own hand where those fingers had curled only moments before to pressing daydreams of what his lips might feel like against his skin instead. Was he… Did this stranger have within him that something more that Qrow had always sought after? He’d found it in Summer Rose, but she never looked at him like this, eyes alight with intrigue at his very presence. She was the perfect white light of the moon, but this man… He held this same magnetism as she without having escaped from the broken parts of the world; there was a certain dirtiness, a freyedness, to his magnificent aura that inspired, for the first time in the longest time, the smallest spark of hope inside of the weary cop’s heart - that maybe he would not have to suffer this world alone forever.

“Branwen… You said you’d been in the papers, yeah? I feel like I know that name from somewhere…”

Qrow almost wished he could sink into the bench; he just wanted Roman to drop the subject and move on to more interesting things, to put his hands back on him. He’d had the smallest taste of what the other might have to offer him, and he was ravenous to pursue it, eyes lingering over the other’s lips still as he pondered.

After another moment of thought, though, his face lit up with realization.

“Ah, I know; you worked on the Belle and Crayne case all those years ago, right?” At the small nod Qrow gave, he continued.

“Grizzly business, really… I read about you locking up that Belle woman - or Neo Politain, I guess. That’s really some incredible work, you know? I mean, she was one twisted dame. You sure are braver than I to be doing the work you do…” Roman’s fingers found his hand again, tenderly looping under it to give it a squeeze, and this time Qrow reciprocated, fingers curling under to return the gesture. There was a certain softness to those emerald eyes that twisted Qrow’s stomach up in knots, his own crimson lowering down to the table to avoid the feeling.

“Maybe, sure. But we never found Crayne. Bastard’s probably out there doing God knows what right now, all because we were disorganized - sloppy. Whole operation was a shitshow…” He brought up the hand unrestrained by the other to rub at the stubble along his jaw, sighing at the memories the mention of the Belle and Crayne case dredged up. His mind wandered to that dead kid in the corner store, to his mother years before. All of his shortcomings, his failures, his anger at the department, and his sorrow for being unable to give pause to the virulent hatred of the world around him weighed on his soul again, and it made him wonder if all of the beautiful things in the world were meant to hurt him.

“Oh, that’s right… I had almost forgotten about him… There hasn’t been anything in the papers about him in, well… probably years. Surely you don’t think he’s still a threat, right? I mean, are the police even still investigating?” At the niggling curiosity in Roman’s voice, Qrow grit his teeth where he stared down at the table still.

“That’s not something I can talk about. It’s confidential information.” Qrow’s voice was curt and biting. Whatever Roman was trying to get at, he’d pushed too hard; he’d dealt with enough journalists and pencil pushers to know when he was being grilled for information, and it didn’t matter why the other wanted it. It wasn’t something he could bear to think about for any longer.

“It’s not something I even want to talk about…” 

He fumbled around in his pockets for his cigarette case, managing to get one out with shaking fingers as he mentally kicked himself. It had been a momentary lapse of judgement, he supposed, why he had let his voice lower and tremble over his last statement - an admission of his inner strife over the case. Qrow kept his eyes trained on the table, wary of what he might find in the other’s face, as he produced the box of matches again. In order to strike one, he moved to loose his hand from where it remained gently trapped between the soft digits of Roman’s right hand and the cool wood of the table, but just as he managed to slide it out, a firm pressure wrapped around his wrist. His eyes slowly drifted up to the hand closed around his wrist before locking eyes with the intense gaze waiting for him. Roman’s fingers were pressed against his pulse point, surely feeling the stuttering gallop his heart had set off into as Qrow watched bashfulness play over his face; the stunning gems in place of the other’s eyes fell wistfully to the table for only a moment before meeting his own tired but curious gaze again. That small spark of purpose and chaos found itself renewed there as he brought his cigar up to his lips, giving a few quick pulls to rekindle the cherry burning at the end where it had dimmed from neglect over the course of their conversation. Delicately but deliberately, Roman leaned forward over the table to press that fire against the dangling end of Qrow’s cigarette, blackening the paper while the stunned cop hesitated uselessly at the proximity before finally gathering enough coherent thought to take a drag and ignite the tobacco within.

“I’m sorry, darling,” Roman offers softly as he leans back again, huffing grey smoke out into the air.

“Sometimes my curiosity just takes hold of me, and I push people too hard. I don’t mean to upset you. I just find you so terribly fascinating I can hardly help myself.” He released his hold on Qrow’s wrist to instead pick at a loose string dangling from the end of his shirt sleeve, eyes cutting away again as a coy smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“It’s… a little embarrassing, actually,” he laughed, a light and soothing sound, as he pulled his hand entirely away to hide his face. All at once, Qrow realized he was staring, blinking to himself a few times to try to will the heat out of his face. Maybe he’d been too harsh, too cagey; it was clear Roman wanted something from him, but that didn’t necessarily mean it couldn’t be something they both wanted. It had been so long since anyone had even looked at him, much less taken interest in him, touched him, held him. He could have sent Roman away before their first hello’s, but he had made the decision to follow where this path would lead him, and - by God - he wasn’t going to back down now.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.” He forced the words from his throat before he could talk himself out of them, leaning forward against the table and tentatively trailing his fingers along the back of Roman’s hand where it covered part of his face. The other’s expression shifted so suddenly, he almost thought he’d overstepped his limits, but the gentle surprise he found there in place of anger spurred him on.

“I’m a cop, after all. In this line of work, you pick up all kinds of shit that makes you mean - makes you paranoid. But you’re sweet, and I like your curiosity. It’s cute.” Qrow cocked his head to the side just slightly, donning the most charming smile he could muster as he softly booped a single finger against Roman’s nose. A drunken chuckle burbled past Qrow’s lips at the blink of shock and the miffed glare that followed. Roman gently batted his hand away from his face and sighed.

“You’d better thank your lucky stars you’re so handsome, you little weasel.” Qrow’s brows shot up at the backhanded compliment, taking a slow drag from his cigarette.

“That’s Officer Weasel, thank you. And am I? Think carefully about your answer now; you know it’s illegal to lie to an officer, yeah?” Roman tried his best to roll his eyes and look annoyed, but the amused grin that fought its way to his lips belied his fondness. He paused for a long moment, eyes just roaming over Qrow where he was still leaned forward against the table.

“Well, if it’s honesty you want, _Officer,_ I’ll just have to investigate further before I give my answer. It might help if I could get a closer look, you know?” As he spoke, voice playful and lowered just slightly, he reached out to hook his finger in the collar of Qrow’s button up shirt, popping open the second button to match the first. The tip of the digit brushed ever so slightly over the prickling skin of his collar bone, sending a shiver down his spine. He never realized just how starved for kind touches he was until this very moment, trying to fight off the arousal pooling in his abdomen.

Roman’s hand shifted to cup his chin, forcing their eyes to meet again, and Qrow had never been more grateful to be sitting down.

“You got somewhere quiet we could go, hotshot?”

“Y-yeah. My place isn’t too far… If you want..?”

“God, I thought you’d never ask,” Roman sighed, snuffing his cigar in the nearby ashtray before collecting himself and moving to stand.

Qrow sat there in quiet shock for several moments, watching the way the other moved, entranced by him, until a backward glance told him he was taking too long. Quickly, he gathered himself to stand and follow after, shuffling out of the bar with Roman at his side as he dodged looks from the barkeep and other patrons. As the pair shuffled to Qrow’s car, his mind was alight with uncertain excitement and gut wrenching anxiety; he was bringing a stranger into his home, into his very self, but Roman was so bright, so lovely… And the way his warm, firm grip felt on his thigh as he pushed his car over the speed limit told him no matter what was to come of this, he was at the least in for a night he would never forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so that took longer than a week lol
> 
> Please don't be afraid to leave me a comment if you enjoyed it uwu

**Author's Note:**

> I'm having a lot of fun writing this!
> 
> I'll try to update weekly at least!
> 
> My Tumblr: meek-minded-masochist.tumblr.com


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